


Afternoon Classes

by bunbunjolras



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Crossdressing, M/M, PWP, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:57:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunbunjolras/pseuds/bunbunjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Enjolras is devious, Grantaire is his frustrated teacher, and a mini-skirt is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afternoon Classes

**Author's Note:**

> The Enjolras described in this fic is based on his description in the Brick.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to Charlie for putting up with my stream of messages about this fic, and also for providing inspiration for this fic. 
> 
> Not proof read.

Grantaire hated the last class he gave on a Friday. It wasn't that the class was bad – it was a class of final year students, 17 and 18 year olds who were genuinely dedicated to the art they were making, who chose to take this class above others. It was one student in particular.  
  
It wasn't that Enjolras was bad at art, either. His art was technically excellent, he created beautiful pieces, but it seemed sometimes as though he was taking the class for other reasons, as he lacked the passion some of the other students showed. He was passionate about politics and philosophy, but his art was sometimes lacking. It wasn't until a few months into the year that Grantaire realised exactly why Enjolras was taking the class, when the student had stayed late after the class and crowded Grantaire up against his desk, rubbing up against him lithely.  
  
The teacher had pushed him away and stumbled from the room, snatching up his messenger bag on his way out of the room to cover his startlingly sudden erection.  
  
Enjolras was beautiful – he had an almost feminine grace to his slender body, pale skin and delicate features, and long blonde hair that he either swept back from his face with a red ribbon or left to flow forwards over his shoulder. When he sat still, Grantaire could swear that he was carved from marble, a statue in tribute to Apollo.  
  
Enjolras was almost single-minded in pursuing something he wanted, and he didn't make any exception for Grantaire, 8 years his senior and his teacher, and he teased him and taunted him at every available opportunity.  
  
Grantaire's heart froze in his chest that afternoon, a Friday in March, just before spring break, when he walked into his classroom and saw who he thought was one of his female students perched atop his desk. His eyes strayed from shiny black heels up to thigh-high white cotton socks, a scandalously short pleated plaid skirt in red and black, a tight white shirt that clung to a narrow waist, a red and black tie and a thick curl of blond hair tied forwards over one shoulder with a red ribbon.  
  
“Hello,” Enjolras purred, and Grantaire's eyebrows shot upwards. Enjolras' lips were pinker than usual, his startling clear blue eyes framed by long, pale lashes that made him seem inhumanly delicate.  
  
“Enjolras,” Grantaire murmured, his voice cracking slightly as his eyes tripped back down to his legs, the heels, the socks. “What the hell are you doing here?”  
  
Enjolras tipped his head back, laughing throatily, his neck a pale, slender column, his strangely lickable collarbone exposed. “I have class, sir.”  
  
Grantaire cleared his throat and looked away from him. “Not for another 10 minutes.”  
  
The blond stood, stalking forwards gracefully on the heels, obviously well practiced at walking in them. If it weren't for his lack of breasts, Enjolras would be indistinguishable from one of the female students at the school.  
  
“Here I am trying to be a good student and I've disappointed you,” he murmured, pouting as he leaned in to Grantaire's personal space. “How can I make it up to you?”  
  
Grantaire stepped back, the backs of his knees colliding with the hard edge and forcing him to sit down. Enjolras loomed over him, his blonde hair falling forwards and brushing against his teacher's cheek.  
  
“E-Enjolras,” he murmured, his hands itching to touch. A voice at the back of his mind screeched at him that this was wrong, but it was drowned out by the loud animal part of his brain that told him he wanted this boy. He leaned forwards, a breath away from Enjolras, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a door in the hallway banged suddenly, and he pushed his student away from him suddenly, scrambling back towards his desk.  
  
Enjolras staggered backwards, hitting a chair and having to throw out his hands to catch himself before he fell to the ground.  
  
Grantaire dropped into his chair, burying his face in his hands as a few students came in through the door. He looked up in time to see Enjolras throwing a smirk over his shoulder as he sauntered back to his desk, his ass swaying under his skirt. He settled himself in a chair in the corner of the room, shrugging on a long red cardigan. He pulled out his sketchbook and a pencil and the next time Grantaire looked up his student was scribbling away fiercely at the page.  
  
The rest of the students in the class trickled in slowly, and the student set about working on their projects, individual to each of them. Enjolras had finished his, a papier-mâché scale representation of a barricade he said was accurate to those used in the June Rebellions of 1832 in Paris. It was topped with figurines representing Enjolras and his friends, as well as one of a scruffy, black haired man clutching a bottle that he had stuck a name badge to that simply said “R”.  
  
Grantaire was marking 8th grade essays about their favourite impressionist painters, occasionally offering guidance to those who needed it. After around twenty minutes he looked up to see Enjolras gazing absently at him, sucking absently at the end of his pen, one of his feet bare of its shoe, rubbing slowly up and down the leg of the table he was sat at.  
  
He bit his lip and went back to his marking, trying desperate to ignore the flashes of blond and red at the corner of his vision where Enjolras shifted and fidgeted in his chair. A few more students approached him with queries, but the class was mostly quiet, some quiet murmuring here and there, so Grantaire heard the quiet moan from the back of the class easily. Enjolras was stretching out luxuriously at his desk, his body taut and elegant, his arms raised above his head, a pale strip of skin visible between his skirt and shirt. None of the other students even batted an eyelid, but Grantaire found himself unable to look away. The blond uncrossed his legs and amongst the white socks and pale skin there was a flash of deep red, and all of the blood in the teacher's body seemed to rush to his cock.  
  
“Are you okay, sir?”  
  
His head snapped around to see Euphrasie Fauchelevant watching him carefully. “You've gone really pale.”  
  
“I'm fine, Euphrasie,” he answered, looking back down at his desk before looking up at her again.  
  
“I've told you, sir, call me Cosette. Everybody does,” she said, smiling.  
  
“Call me Grantaire, then. I feel uncomfortable being called 'sir', I'm not that much older than you.”  
  
Cosette laughed and went back to her painting, a series of studies of flowers using different paints and materials.  
  
Before long, the class was over, as was the school day, and the students trickled out of the class room.  
  
“Have a nice break,” Grantaire called after them as they left. Just one student remained in the classroom, and the dark haired teacher held back a groan at the sight of him.  
  
Enjolras was perched atop his desk, his legs splayed, and he looked like a vision, infuriatingly beautiful.  
  
His red cardigan was slipping off of one of his shoulders, and he shrugged it off completely, leaving it pooled on the desk. His hair, long enough to trail down between his shoulder blades, had been retied with the red ribbon, and curled into one long, golden ringlet, falling forwards, curling around his neck slightly.  
  
“Enjolras, what are you still doing here? Your spring break has started, you should be out celebrating,” he told the boy. “Or something.”  
  
Enjolras rose elegantly from the desk, his legs swishing together as he approached his suddenly speechless teacher. He pushed him back against the desk and slid up between his legs, his lips just an inch away from Grantaire's. The heels he was wearing made him almost the same height as the older man, and he smiled deviously.  
  
“You want me,” he purred.  
  
Grantaire shook his head furiously, unable to form coherent thoughts or words.  
  
“You do,” Enjolras trilled happily. “You want to fuck me.”  
  
“No, I don't.”  
  
Grantaire made no move to push him away, and Enjolras smiled up at him, wickedly, his clear blue eyes sparkling in the light of the classroom. He had gone from light hearted tease to blisteringly seductive in the blink of an eye. The blond grabbed the teacher's hand and brought it down to his leg. Grantaire ran his hand up Enjolras' leg, and he gasped when his fingers brushed across silk and rough lace, and Enjolras took the opportunity to run nimble fingers over the taught material covering Grantare's crotch. He grasped at Enjolras' ass, pulling him closer, and his student groaned in delight.  
  
“Do you like them?” the student purred, lifting the edge of his skirt to show off shiny red silk and black lace panties, and the dark haired man moaned. “I bought them just for you.”  
  
“You shouldn't be here,” Grantaire whispered, unable to raise his voice. “The door isn't locked, anyone could walk in.”  
  
Enjolras leaned in, his nose brushing against Grantaire's cheek. “Everyone's going out to celebrate the start of spring break. No one's going to walk in.”  
  
“Enjolras,” he said again, leaning back. “I'm your teacher, this is wrong.”  
  
He leaned back and pouted, and Grantaire realised belatedly, stupidly, that his lips were coated in pink gloss.  
  
“You want me. I know you do,” he moaned, and pressed up against R's leg, his cock hard beneath his skirt and underwear. “So take me.”  
  
“You're a devil,” Grantaire growled, leaning in to kiss him, gently at first, but quickly with more ferocity, nipping at those pink lips.  
  
“Or an angel.” Enjolras spun on his heel, pulling Grantaire with him, sucking on his lower lip as he leaned back against the desk. He scrabbled at the man's trousers, undoing the belt, button and fly in a few swift moves. “Go lock the door.”  
  
The teacher staggered away from him, snatching up a key and locking the door with shaking hands. He turned back to the desk to see Enjolras leaning forward onto it, pulling two small packets out of the waistband of the skirt.  
  
“Lube and a condom,” Enjolras told him, dropping them onto the desk beside his leg. “Safe is sexy,” he laughed.  
  
Grantaire gripped Enjolras' waist and reached up under his skirt, pulling the silky underwear hard enough for it to come apart at the seams, and pushed the remaining scraps down the blond's legs – which he wouldn't help notice were entirely devoid of hair.  
  
“How long have you been planning this?”  
  
Enjolras ground back against his teacher, moaning happily. Grantaire pushed his pants down with one hand, snatching up the lube packet up with the other.  
  
“Since I first saw you.” Enjolras paused and moaned as Grantaire pushed one lubricated finger into him without much hesitation, and he couldn't keep his hips from jerking back reflexifely, wanting more. “After the first class I had with you I went straight to my car and jerked off, thinking about you.”  
  
“Don't tell me things like that.” He pushed another finger in, not caring if he was going to fast, he just wanted to be inside him as soon as he possibly could, and Enjolras trembled beneath him.  
  
“I had my hand on my dick,” Enjolras breathed, rutting back against his fingers. “And I managed to get three fingers up my ass.”  
  
Grantaire's head dropped forwards onto Enjolras' shoulder, and he bit back a groan. “Like this?” he asked, adding another finger.  
  
Enjolras let his head dropped back, a deep, needy noise emerging from his throat. “This is so much better.”  
  
With quick, shaky movements, Grantaire pulled his fingers out, reaching for the condom packet. He ripped the foil open and rolled it on, stroking his cock a few times, unable to stop touching himself. He nudged each of Enjolras' feet apart, spreading his legs wider, and pushed him further forwards over the desk so as his chest was pressed into some papers, his cock trapped between his belly and the wood of the desk.  
  
“Fuck,” the student breathed, and he keened pathetically as Grantaire pushed into him, sinking to the hilt.  
  
“Talk to me.” He fisted his hand in Enjolras' lovely blond hair, pulling at it gently, enough to make him arch his back. Grantaire pulled almost all the way out, then thrust back in with a smooth roll of his hips.  
  
Scrabbling at the table to brace himself, Enjolras laughed, tilting his hips slightly to get a better angle. “Harder,” he growled.  
  
Grantaire paused – Enjolras looked so delicate he was worried that if he did go any harder, not that his thrusts were particularly powerful, he would shatter. But he could feel underlying strength in the young man's limbs, and he knew from the way Enjolras had once hauled a massive amount of wood into the room with just one hand that he was stronger than he appeared.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
The teen snarled rather viciously, shoving his hips backwards. “I'm sure, just harder. Faster. Just fucking do it.”  
  
Grantaire's heart skipped a beat and he did exactly as he was told – he fucked Enjolras harder, faster, one hand still tangled in his hair, the other grasping at his hip, holding him in place effectively.  
  
“God that's good, that's amazing,” Enjolras whined, arching back further, his body contorted in a painful looking manner. “Keep going, please don't stop.”  
  
Grantaire wasn't listening to him properly, instead too focussed on the sensation of Enjolras on his cock, the sound of his narrow, bony hips bumping against the hard wood of the table, the soft hair beneath his hand at the blond's neck.  
  
Enjolras came with a cry, his hips jerking rather uncontrollably in Grantaire's hand, moaning through the tail-end of his climax. The muscles in his ass tightened and Grantaire found himself pushed over the edge, coming hard and groaning loudly as he did so.  
  
He must have blacked out briefly because all of a sudden Grantaire was leaning down over Enjolras, his hands played on the table either side of his student, aware that he was laughing, a low, beautiful sound that bubbled up out of his chest. They were both breathing deeply, and Grantaire dropped his head forwards further to kiss the back of Enjolras' neck.  
  
The teacher stepped back, peeling the condom off, knotting it with practiced ease and slinging it in the trash, which he'd take out with him when he left.  
  
“Turn around.”  
  
Enjolras stood, shaky in his heels for the first time, and turned around to look up at Grantaire, smiling bilssfully. His skirt was creased and his shirt was covered in his own come, and his hair was coming loose of it's ribbon.  
  
He had never looked more beautiful.  
  
Grantaire leaned in and kissed him, and Enjolras melted up against him, wrapping his arms up around the dark haired man's shoulders.  
  
“We can't do this again,” Grantaire murmured into his lips. “Not while you're still a student.”  
  
Enjolras pulled away, flashing him a devilish grin.  
  
“Just you try and stop me.” He turned on his heel, suddenly composed again, and picked up his messenger bag and cardigan, bundling up the red fabric to cover up the mess on the front of his shirt. He unlocked the door and strode out, and Grantaire couldn't keep from watching his ass as he left, swaying beautifully under his skirt.  
  
“I know I can't,” he laughed, sitting down at his desk heavily.


End file.
